


Decking the Halls and Slippery Falls

by HollyeLeigh



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Christmas Lights, F/M, Holidays, Huddling For Warmth, Smut, Snowed In
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-18 21:33:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13108938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyeLeigh/pseuds/HollyeLeigh
Summary: CS Holiday AU based on the prompt: I just wanted to put Christmas lights up but I ended up falling off the ladder and crashing into you while you were delivering something to my door but oh god you’re hot. With a dash of snowed in, loss of power, and keeping each other warm to boot!





	Decking the Halls and Slippery Falls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [totheendoftheworldortime79](https://archiveofourown.org/users/totheendoftheworldortime79/gifts).



> CS Secret Santa gift for @totheendoftheworldortime
> 
> beta’d and titled by the amazing @ilovemesomekillianjones

 

Emma finished securing the ladder to the side of her house and began the perilous ascent to the rooftop. These probably weren’t ideal conditions for hanging outdoor Christmas lights, but this was her only day off for the next several days, and with a snow storm set to blow in later that afternoon it was her one chance to get lights up before Christmas actually came.

And she was gonna get these lights up.

And get the rest of her house decorated.

Before her Christmas tree was delivered.

So she could spend a cozy evening decorating her first ever Christmas tree, in her first ever house, with the first snowfall of the season swirling outside the windows that were all her own.

All hers.

Emma Swan had never had much that she could actually call her own, which made this Christmas in her first house all the more special. She planned to go all out. Garlands, and wreaths, and fake candles in the window sills, lights on the outside of the house, and even a real live Christmas tree.

Yup. It was going to be the best Christmas ever.

If she didn’t kill herself getting the house lights up first.

In typical Maine fashion they’d had several days of wet, dreary yuck leading up to the first potential snowfall, so everything had a coating of moisture that would surely turn icy as the temperature began to drop throughout the day. Emma meticulously worked to hang the outdoor lights with as much haste as she could, without sacrificing precision. She’d just gotten to the last stretch along the front of the house when she heard the telltale sound of tires on gravel, indicating that someone was pulling up to her secluded home on the outskirts of town.

As deputy of the small, coastal town of Storybrooke, Emma got her fill of the citizenry day in and day out, through her profession; so when the opportunity came to buy a home several miles out of the way of the hustle and bustle of town, she’d jumped at it. Sure it was a little inconvenient, but the privacy was exactly what she’d wanted, and the forest views that surrounded most of her property weren’t too shabby either.

The distance, and slightly sketchy bridge that spanned the little brook just off the main road, did sometimes make her feel bad for those who had to trek out to her neck of the woods. Those like the person currently making their way up her drive with a full and lovely Christmas tree loaded in the back of a truck that had Jones Tree Farm displayed along its side.

The same person who, ever since he’d arrived in town five months prior, turned Emma into a ridiculous swooning cliche of a woman.

Killian Jones.

The little… er,  _ younger _ brother of resident park services manager, Liam Jones.

The hot, seductively sinful, but slightly nerdy, and totally sweet, (and single) brother of Liam Jones.

Emma had known Liam for three years, basically ever since she’d come to Storybrooke to work with her brother, David, at the police department. As a fellow city worker, and law enforcement agent in his own right, as it pertained to the many trails, campsites, and activities the forests around Storybrooke afforded citizens and visitors, he and Emma had come to know one another quite well over the years. She liked Liam and his family, and had heard of this infamous little brother through the many tales he shared about him, but it wasn’t until Killian Jones had taken a position at the local university and moved to Storybrooke over the summer in order to be closer to his brother, that Emma had ever met the man.

A meeting that had thrown Emma for a loop, to say the least.

I mean, it just wasn’t fair to subject a person to first time introductions at a Fourth of July celebration where everyone was dressed, or partially dressed, in bathing suit attire. Thank goodness for oversized, dark sunglasses that hid her wide eyed shock and blatant appreciation of the man who’d just exited the water, all wet and tanned and toned. Water sluiced off his body as he shook the excess out of his hair, and a wide grin plastered on his face gave him a boyish quality that Emma found immediately endearing.

He’d come over at Liam’s behest and Emma couldn’t stop staring at his chest. It had heaved with the evidence of the exertion he’d just spent in swimming over to the shore. A delicious, dark expanse of hair stuck to the broad planes of his chest, glistening from the droplets adhered to it as the sun refracted off him. Streams of excess water ran down his body and Emma watched as their line cascaded down his abs, along with a tapering thatch of hair that disappeared below the band of his enticingly low swim trunks. It was all Emma could do to not bite her lip and groan at the prospect of what lay beneath the thin material.

A prospect she had considered a number of times over the past several months, but despite his flirty and persistent pursuit, Emma had kept those thoughts, and any actions that might accompany them at bay, every bit as much as she had the man himself. Not that it had made much of a difference, for every time they were in a position to interact with one another he had innuendoes and euphemisms at the ready to both amuse her and convey his interest. He always left the ball in her court, though. Never pushed. Never insisted. Never pressured. Just remained sweet and flirty and funny and sexy as hell.

Like the other day when she’d picked out her Christmas tree.

In addition to working for the city’s Parks Department, Liam also owned a Christmas tree farm. With the fall semester finished for Killian, he had taken to helping his brother run the tree lot and had been there when Emma came by to pick out her tree. They’d fallen into their usual banter as he showed her variety after variety of tree, with commentary and holiday themed double entendre for each and every kind. He earned many a patented eye roll, but also managed to elicit a laugh from her quite often, too.

He’d turned serious when it came time to load the tree for her, though.

_ “Swan, you can’t transport this tree on top of that thing!” he chided. _

_ “My bug is not a thing, Jones. It’s a classic.” _

_ “It’s classically ill-suited for such a task as ferrying a seventy pound, eight foot tree through town and out into the wilds of your domicile.” _

_ “Was that even English?” she mocked as she crossed her arms over her chest. _

_ “I assure you, it was more English than any utterances that have ever escaped your beautiful lips.” His wink and smirk were completely over the top, as was his accent, which had become much more prominent in making his point regarding his native tongue. _

_ Emma wanted to make some quip about that silver tongue of his, but everything sounded  _ extremely  _ dirty in her head. _

_ Instead, she threw him a glare. “So how do you suggest I get that tree back to my  _ domicile in the wilds _?” _

_ “I’ll deliver it to you, love,” he offered. “Just let me know when it would be most convenient and I’ll run it out to you.” _

She’d told him to bring it by today, her day off.

And here he was. Right on schedule.

“What the bloody hell are you doing up there, Swan?” he questioned by way of a greeting as he exited the cab of his truck.

“Hanging Christmas lights. What’s it look like?”

“Like a death wish,” he quipped. “Here, let me help.”

“I’m fine, Jones,” she countered. “This is my last strand.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yes,” she snapped, only slightly irritated by his gentlemanly tendencies.

“Fine,” he shot back. “I’ll just go unload your tree and once you’re done up there you can tell me where I can go stick it.”

He sent her a saucy smirk as he wiggled his brows her way.

“Don’t tempt me,” she muttered, drawing a chuckle from him as he turned back to the truck.

The last strand of lights took a ridiculously long time to hang. It wasn’t at all because Emma was too preoccupied watching the way Killian manhandled the tree from the bed of the truck, lifting the thing as if it were nothing at all, carrying it to her porch and setting it up against the door. Nor did it have anything to do with thoughts of how easily he could probably lift  _ her _ into his arms and press  _ her _ against a door.

_ Focus! _

“Are you sure you couldn’t use a hand up there, Swan?”

She proudly put the last light in place. “I said I’m fine, Jones!”

But the slip of her boot on the now iced over rungs of her ladder as she took her first step in descent said otherwise. One moment Emma felt the weightlessness of a freefall as she lost contact with the ladder, and the next, she felt the very solid contact of a hard, warm body. They were both propelled backwards, right into an ice cold mud puddle. Killian took the brunt of the impact, landing sprawled out on his back, with Emma’s back flat against his chest.

Killian groaned from beneath her, his arms which were wrapped protectively around her tightened. “Are you alright, love?”

“Am _ I _ alright? Jeez Jones, I landed right on top of you! Are  _ you  _ alright?”

“Bloody fantastic.” He groaned again when she rolled off him.

“I am so sorry, Killian,” she said, offering him her hand in order to assist him from the frigid muck they’d landed in. “You’re soaked and caked in mud. We should get you inside and cleaned up.”

“It’s fine, Swan,” he argued through chattering teeth.

“It’s not fine. Come inside. I can wash and dry your clothes while you warm up in the shower.”

A smirk tried to make its way to his lips, but it was thwarted by a shiver that rolled over him. The chill didn’t detract him from a salacious reply, though.

“My dear Swan, if you wanted to get me out of my clothes and into your shower, all you had to do was ask. No need to stage such theatrics.”

“I didn’t stage anything! I fell! It was an accident!”

“Whatever you say, love,” he teased, another shiver wracking his body, causing him to lose what little smugness he had in his expression. “Actually, in all seriousness, I very much appreciate the offer. I don’t relish the idea of driving half an hour back to town with hypothermia setting in.”

Emma let out an amused breath.  _ Now who’s employing the theatrics. _

After wrangling the tree inside, which had still been propped against the front door, Emma showed Killian to the guest bath where he could get cleaned up.

“Just leave your clothes outside the door and I’ll put them in the wash.There’s a robe hanging on the back of the door. I think I’ve got a pair of David’s old sweats you can change into, I’ll see if I can find them.”

Killian offered up his thanks, and after collecting his soiled garments, Emma started them in the wash before going to see about her own shower. A shower laden with way too much temptation to let her mind wander into naughty territory, given the fact that her libido and imagination knew that Killian Jones was currently in her house. In her guest bathroom. Naked. And unless she found those old sweats of David’s, he would be remaining so under that robe, until his clothes were clean and dry.

How hard was she willing to look for those sweats…

Fortunately (or unfortunately), she didn’t have to look too hard for them after she’d gotten herself cleaned up and dressed. She made her way back downstairs and found Killian had just placed her tree in its stand, he stood back to make sure it was secure and  _ ship shape  _ in the spot next to the fire place. He turned when she cleared her throat, pulling the front of the barely big enough robe around him more securely.

A blush crept up his neck and he reached up to scratch behind his ear. “I hope its okay,” he commented as he gestured to the tree. “I assumed that since this was where you had the stand you’d want the tree here. I can move it if it’s not where you want it.”

Emma had never seen him so adorably unsure of himself. The distinct lack of clothing under the thin robe she’d offered him probably wasn’t helping his overall feelings of comfort. The thin,  _ short  _ robe she’d offered. While it hit her a little below mid-thigh, the length on Killian’s tall frame was damn near obscene. She may have taken in that knowledge (and possibly hoped for a peak of something that had to be a hair’s breadth from exposure under the hem) for a bit too long, given that he was now clearing his throat at her.

A glimmer of amusement flickered in his eyes and he raised his brows at her in that _ I know what you’re thinking _ way. “Are those for me?” he asked, nodding at the sweats in her hand.

“Um, yeah,” she answered, stepping forward to hand him the pants, while  _ not _ staring at the copious amounts of chest hair on display from the ill-fitting robe. “I’m afraid I don’t have any oversized shirts, and I think we both know you’re not getting into one of mine.”

“Pity,” he murmured, shooting her another teasing look. One she tried to ignore.

“But,” she continued, “I do have an oversized Grandpa sweater you can wear. I’ll go grab it while you get those on.”

“Thank you, love,” he replied with sincerity.

Emma turned back toward her coat closet to grab the sweater for him, and may or may not have caught a glimpse of his ass in the reflection of the mirror hanging in the entryway, as he pulled up the sweats under the too short robe.

A warm flush crept its way over her chest and up her neck as a thrill of desire swept through her settling itself at the tips of her breasts and the center of her core.

This was going to be a very long wash and dry cycle.

“Here you go.” Emma handed over the cardigan, her breath stuttered slightly from the graze of his fingers against her own, and her pulse ticked up a notch in its already increased pace.

She glanced up at him as he thanked her,  _ big mistake _ , and her heart pounded in her chest at the look he gave her. Soft and tender with an undercurrent of heat that made her knees weak.  _ I don’t swoon, _ she reminded herself.  _ Sure you don’t,  _ her inner swooner taunted back. His gaze tracked the movement of her tongue as it swept over her lips, and then darkened ever so slightly when she caught the bottom one between her teeth.

She needed to either say something, or offer up her lips, not to mention anything else he might be interested in, if they were going to move past this powder keg of a moment.

“Would you like some hot chocolate?”  _ Damn it, mouth! That was not what you were suppose to do! _

Killian gave her that soft smile that made the corners of his eyes crinkle. “Aye. That sounds grand.”

Emma shuffled past him as he pulled on the sweater she’d given him. She busied herself with the task of making her favorite hot cocoa while Killian settled himself on one of the barstools at her kitchen counter. She could feel the heat of his gaze as she moved about the kitchen, and it did nothing to settle the flutters in her chest, the ripple of nerves in her gut, or the want that coursed through every other part of her.

Emma placed the mugs of cocoa, complete with whipped cream and cinnamon, on the counter before him and then sat at the barstool next to his. They sipped the warm liquid in silence for several moments, the tension crackling in the scant space between them, and Emma wracked her brain for something to say. Something that wasn’t a lewd suggestion of other applications and uses of the whipped cream.

A giggle erupted from her when she caught sight of said whipped cream adorning the tip of his nose, and only grew louder at the cross-eyed expression he made when trying to look down his own nose at it. His laughed matched her own as he reached up to wipe it away. He stuck the whipped cream covered finger into his mouth, playfully twitching his brows at her as he seductively pulled it from his mouth. Emma did the only thing she could in that moment to keep herself from jumping him right there in her kitchen.

She smacked him across the chest, forgetting that he was wearing an open front sweater with nothing to cushion the slap. The cracking sound of her palm meeting skin echoed around them.

“Ow!” Killian exclaimed, reaching up to rub the spot where a pink handprint was beginning to bloom, visible even under the thick matte of dark chest hair. The feel of it under her palm made Emma want to run her fingers through it, and his pained expression tempted her to kiss the offense and make it all better. “Quite hostile, aren’t we?” Killian teased, another chuckle rumbling through his chest.

“Sorry,” she offered, a rush of heat settling in her cheeks made her turn quickly away.

“It’s alright, love. I don’t mind it a little rough.” His voice dropped to a low, husky tone, sending another rush of heat through her body.

Maybe she should open a window and let in some of that cold winter air.

“Please,” she scoffed, turning back towards him with a challenging expression, “you couldn’t handle it.”   

Killian leaned forward with a smug expression of challenge of his own. “Perhaps you’re the one who couldn’t handle it.”

Emma’s breath became shallow and she swallowed hard as she considered his words.  _ Screw it _ , she thought. Just as she was about to reach for the open ends of his sweater to pull him to her lips, the radio sitting across the kitchen crackled to life, emitting a voice through the static.

_ “Emma? Emma, are you there? Copy.” _

Silently cursing her brother’s terrible timing, Emma made her way to the radio and picked up the handset.

“I copy,” she answered. “What’s up? Over.”

_ “Just wanted to make sure you were at home. Over.” _

“You know, we have these wonderful inventions called phones, Dave. Why the radio?”

_ “Have you not been paying attention to the weather? The storm has made cell service spotty at best.” _

Emma looked out her kitchen window. A thick blanket of snow covered everything in sight, with more swirling through the air; fat flakes fell heavily from a dark grey sky without any sign of letting up. In the hour or so since she and Killian had found themselves frigidly covered in mud from her fall off the ladder, a good six inches of snow had fallen. The storm that had been predicted for later that afternoon had evidently come early, and was a bit more severe than expected.

_ “Road crews just came back in with their reports,” _ David continued,  _ “the access road to your neck of the woods is unpassable. It’s not just the snow, but the ice as well. They don’t trust the stability of the bridge to drive the plow or sand truck over it.” _

“Wait,” Emma replied. “Are you saying I’m stuck here?”

“ _ Unfortunately _ ,” David responded, “ _ but we’re working on getting a bobcat with a plow attachment that we can get across the bridge to dig you out. I’m hoping to have it as early as tomorrow afternoon, but it could be the next day. Think you’ll be okay until then?” _

“I don’t see that I have much choice in the matter,” she grumbled. Fortunately, she had made a grocery run a couple days before and was well stocked with food. She had plenty of firewood chopped and stacked, and a generator in case she lost power. She’d be fine.

Emma started at the feel of a hand on her shoulder, and she looked over to see Killian standing next to her, peering wide eyed out the window at the snowpocalypse.

“Um, David,” she began, “could you do me a favor and let Liam know that Killian is stuck out here, too? I know he wouldn’t want his brother to worry.”

Killian gave her an appreciative smile as she spoke, and her heart might have done that flippy flop thing she’d read about in romance novels. The sound of her washing machine buzzer caught both their attention and he gave her shoulder a small squeeze as he made his way out of the kitchen to tend to his clothes.

_ “I’m sorry, Emma. Can you repeat that?”  _ David’s voice crackled through the radio.  _ “It sounded like you said Killian Jones was there with you.” _

Emma shook her head at the tight tone that laced her brother’s words. “He is,” she declared. “He was delivering my Christmas tree and there was a small mishap with a mud puddle.”

_ “What sort of mishap?”  _ David asked suspiciously.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, “would you just let Liam know?”

_ “Is he with you right now?” _ David questioned.  _ “Can he hear me?” _

“No. He’s in the laundry room moving his clothes from the washer to the dryer.” Emma cringed as the words left her mouth, and the sound of David choking on his own breath sent feedback through the radio.

_ “Are you telling me that you are stuck out there with a naked Killian Jones in your house?!” _

“Of course not,” Emma exasperated. “He’s wearing your old sweatpants and a cardigan.”

_ “Remind me to burn those pants.” _

“David!” Emma admonished before bringing the conversation back to where it needed to be focused. “Will you be sure to let Liam know?”

“ _ Yes _ ,” David sighed heavily into his handset.  _ “Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” _

Emma could practically hear the tagged  _ with him _ implied at the end of his question. “I’m sure,” she stated. “Are you going to be okay being a person short?” A surge of guilt coursed through her as she realized that with her stuck at home, it would be on David’s shoulders to police the town with one less officer to assist him.

_ “It’ll be fine, _ ” he assured. “ _ When I call Liam to let him know about his brother I’ll see if he and some of the other park rangers can step in to help if I need it.” _

Some of Emma’s guilt induced tension loosened at his words, only to spike again at the reminder that she and Killian were stuck together in her house for the next twenty-four hours  _ at least. _ Emma heard his soft foot falls make their way back into the kitchen.

“ _ Stay safe out there, _ ” David called out.  _ “Don’t hesitate to radio in if you need anything. I’ll come out there with a shovel and dig you out myself if I have to.” _

Emma scoffed into her hand set and rolled her eyes, even though her brother couldn’t see her. “We’ll be fine, David. You be careful. Snow brings out the crazy in people.”

_ “I know, and I will. Over and out.” _

Emma returned the handset to the radio and worried her lip. How on earth was she going to survive a night  _ alone  _ with Killian Jones? The man was too tempting by half, and Emma’s resolve was falling as quickly as the snowflakes outside. Though, was that really a bad thing?

“My apologies for being an unexpected house guest, Swan,” Killian said, drawing her out of her considerations and back to their current predicament.

“It’s okay. I’m just glad you didn’t get stuck driving in this,” she replied, gesturing out the window. “So, um. I do have a guest room, but I’m afraid there isn’t a bed in there yet. All I had was my own when I moved in.”

“That’s alright.” His brow arched in tandem with the smirk that pulled at his lips as he purred, “I’m sure your bed will do quite nicely.”

“That is  _ not  _ what I m-”

“I’m teasing, Swan,” he chuckled, briefly putting up placating hands before gesturing toward the living room. “The sofa will do.”

Emma let out an amused breath. “Well, seeing as you  _ are  _ an unexpected house guest, you’ll have to earn your keep if you want to bed down on my sofa tonight.” Killian’s brows quirked at her statement, waiting for further explanation. Emma moved to the pantry and called out over her shoulder, “How are you at peeling potatoes?”

He caught the spud she tossed his way, a smile of understanding spread across his too handsome face. “Prepare to be amazed at how deft I am at peeling off exterior layers, love.” He shot her a wink, and after an eye roll and a laugh that wouldn’t be suppressed, she handed him the vegetable peeler.

They worked side by side preparing their dinner. More innuendo, winks, laughs, and furtive glances filled the space around them as they worked. Emma found herself relaxing in Killian’s company. The spark filled tension that lingered between them every time they found themselves together was still present, but it settled to a background simmer as they sat down to eat. It was one of the best meals Emma could ever remember having, and she knew it had everything to do with the pleasant company of Killian Jones.

He was an attentive listener, easy to talk to, and sensitive to subjects she didn’t feel fully comfortable discussing with him yet, steering the conversation to lighter topics or settling into discussions that revealed similarities in their life experiences. The ease of conversation and playful banter continued as they trimmed her Christmas tree.

Christmas music played softly in the background as they strung lights, hung garland, and meticulously placed each ornament with care. Most of the decorations were new, but Emma had a few that she’d collected and held onto over the years. She hadn’t intended to open herself up to Killian so much as she shared the memories attached to each bauble and holiday trinket, but couldn’t find it within herself to regret or be bothered by it. Perhaps it was the reciprocation of that vulnerability he offered when he shared personal memories of his own, his voice soft and nostalgic as he spoke of Christmases past with a gleam of boyishness in his eyes.

They stood back to admire their work and Emma marveled at the sight.

“That is a truly spectacular tree, Swan,” Killian stated. His eyes were fixed on the illuminated tree and the glow gave his eyes an added sparkle of wonder as he smiled. Emma’s heart fluttered at the way the flicker of lights danced across his skin, and she sort of wished he was still wearing the open sweater and not the t-shirt he’d pulled from the dryer before they began the task. Her breath caught in the back of her throat when he turned his gaze toward her, looking at her with the same sense of awe he had just appreciated the tree with.

The music changed to the next song on the playlist and Killian’s smile broadened in recognition. Frank Sinatra began crooning  _ The Christmas Waltz  _ and with a formal bow Killian offered her his hand. “May I have this dance, milady?”

“I don’t know how to dance to this.”

“Well,” he replied, stepping closer to her. “Lucky for you, I do.” He placed her hand on his shoulder, clasped her other within his own, and wrapped his other around her waist before explaining, “There’s only one rule. Pick a partner who knows what they’re doing.”

Old Blue Eyes continued to croon about  _ frosted window panes _ ,  _ songs in three quarter time _ , and  _ the world falling in love _ , and Emma found it difficult to pull her gaze from the blue eyes that were tenderly mooning back at her. Her skin tingled under the heat and weight of his hand on her waist, and the hair on her arm had been raised since the moment he took her hand in his. Killian swept her across the living room with sure steps, practically lifting her off her feet as they turned circles around her furniture.

When the song came to an end they were back where they had started. Both were slightly breathless, whether from the dance or the distinct charge of the atmosphere around them, Emma couldn’t say. She saw his eyes flicker down to her lips and she mirrored the action. Before either of them could act upon the compulsion they were both clearly considering, they were suddenly bathed in darkness as the lights went out around them.

“Seriously?!” Emma exclaimed. “You have got to be kidding me!”

She heard Killian chuckle as he asked where she kept a flashlight, and Emma stumbled her way back to the kitchen to find it. With a click, the beam of her flashlight flooded the room and she realized that Killian had followed her. He was again peering out the kitchen window.

“Looks like the power is out over the whole town,” he said. “I don’t see anything but darkness in that direction.”

Emma worried her lip while considering her options. She had a generator, but they didn’t know how long it would be before the snow could be cleared from the access road. She didn’t want to run out of gas too early.

As if he could read her thoughts, Killian suggested, “Why don’t I get a fire started. You can take the sofa tonight and I’ll make myself a pallet on the floor. That way we can both stay warm and not use up any more petrol than we have to, before our rescue arrives.”

Emma nodded and they set themselves to the task. She held the flashlight for him as he got the fire going, and then handed it off to him so he could see in the dark when he went out to collect extra logs to keep the fire going throughout the night. While he went about that chore, Emma collected blankets and pillows in order to create a comfortable spot for him to sleep on. All the while Emma contemplated whether or not to just join him on the floor so they could keep one another warm with more than just the heat of the fire.

She pushed the thought from her mind when Killian came back in, his arms loaded down with a stack of logs which he deposited next to the hearth. He swept a hand through his hair, knocking snowflakes from his dark tresses, and shivered from the cold before he settled himself into the corner of the sofa.

“So,” he said, breaking the silence. “No TV, too dark to play cards, just the warm crackle of the fire, and us huddled together to conserve warmth… whatever shall we do to pass the time?”

Emma knew from the exaggerated waggle of his brows and sweeping of his tongue over his bottom lip while he devoured her with an openly salacious gaze that he was expecting a scoff, or an eye roll, or a glare from her in response. It was a dance they had done many times before, and several times over the course of that very day, but this time... This time Emma didn’t want to scoff, or roll her eyes, or shoot him a glare. This time she wanted to crawl onto his lap and kiss the ever loving daylights out of him.

Imagine his surprise when that’s exactly what she did.

A high pitched noise resonated from the back of his throat when she straddled his lap and crashed her mouth to his. Although her reaction had to come as a bit of a shock, it didn’t take him long to respond in kind. His hand wrapped around to cradle the back of her head, burying itself into her hair, and when her tongue pressed at the seam of his lips, he was only too happy to greet it with his own.

The experience of kissing Killian Jones was everything Emma thought it would be, and more. His lips were as soft and supple as they appeared, his tongue, which usually had bawdy euphemisms rolling off the tip of it, slid against hers with promises of more wicked abilities than simple innuendo. In those first few moments of exploration, Killian demonstrated his ability to be both rough and gentle, commanding or submissive; a blend of offerings to meet whatever need she might require, exhibited with sharp nips from his teeth that were quickly soothed by his lips and tongue, or tugs to her hair that positioned her head and mouth to his liking while remaining pliant to her demands as well.

The entire experience had Emma’s body humming with a want she’d been trying to suppress since the moment this man had walked into her life. A want she was done ignoring.

“That was…” Killian murmured, looking utterly wrecked while attempting to catch his breath.

“A way we could pass the time,” Emma finished for him, then playfully added, “that is, if you want.”

“Oh, I want,” Killian replied with an enthusiastic chuckle. “I very much want.”

His boyish exuberance had Emma giggling against his lips when he claimed them again. A groan reverberated from the back of his throat and settled itself between her legs as she slid her hands down his chest. She paused to toy with his nipples through the sheer fabric of his shirt with her nails and he lightly tugged at her bottom lip with his teeth in response. His hips bucked up into hers when she finally slid her hands under the hem of his shirt, and she gasped at the  _ full affect _ her actions were having on him.

They both groaned as she rolled her hips over his length. “Have you been hard like this for me all day?” she questioned against his lips.

“Darling, I’ve been hard for you for five long months,” he strained in reply. “Ever since I saw you in that delectable red bikini on the Fourth of July.”

“I’m sorry I made you wait so long,” she said, pulling back slightly so she could look him in the eye, hoping he’d see the sincerity of her words.

“Don’t be,” he replied, caressing her face with the back of his knuckles. “It was worth the wait in order for you to be certain that this is what you want. You are certain, aren’t you?”

Emma knew he was asking about more than just that moment. His hope filled expression questioning whether or not she was certain of him. Of them. Of this moment becoming many more moments he wanted to share with only her. Moments she wanted to experience with only him.

“I’m sure,” she answered and his grin caused a fresh warmth to spread through her.

She tugged the hem of his shirt up over his head and finally took the opportunity to run her fingers through the course hair that blanketed the planes of his chest. Killian rested his head on the back of the couch, eyes fluttering shut at the sensation, and Emma took advantage of his exposed throat, applying hot, open mouthed kisses to its expanse. His hands tightened on her hips, and something akin to a growl rumbled through his chest when she nipped at his earlobe.

His lips found hers once again, an urgency replacing the tenderness they’d shared just moments before. Their lips parted briefly so he could remove her sweater, and with one impressive, single-handed motion, Killian released the hooks from the eye closures on her bra. He drew back from her kiss to feast his eyes on her topless form after he’d removed the garment and tossed it aside.

“You are stunning, Emma.”

His words made her flush, a hot wave of desire rolling through her, leaving prickles of need in its wake. The heat of the fire behind her spread across her bare back, but it was nothing compared to the searing affect Killian’s mouth had as he began to lavish her with his lips and tongue. Scorching kisses that began at the hollow of her throat and worked their way down to the valley between her breasts. Emma arched her back, practically begging him with her movements to give attention to her hardened nipples. His hands were splayed across her back, holding her so he could answer her silent petition, and she didn’t care one bit how wanton the moan that escaped from her lips sounded when his mouth finally latched onto her breast and his tongue swept over her nipple.

“Gods, I swear I could come just from the sounds you make,” he murmured against her chest as he moved to her other breast.

“You better not,” she panted, and she felt the hot breath of his chuckle ghost over her skin, sending another shiver of want through her. Hell, she could probably come just from the work of his tongue and teeth over her nipples. The tightening low in her belly transformed into a pulsating need between her thighs and she began rocking her hips in a desperate quest for friction.

Killian’s arms tightened around her, his hands bracing her as he scooted forward on the couch and then partially stood, only to lower them to the pallet she had made for him. He carefully laid her on her back, positioning them parallel to the fire, and then knelt between her legs. Emma didn’t think she had ever seen anything more beautiful than Killian Jones bathed in fire light, and by the way his gaze roamed over her he seemed to think the same thing about her.

His hands ran up her legs, and he leaned forward to place a kiss below her belly button as he reached for the waistband of her leggings. He glanced up asking silent permission before peeling them and her underwear off of her after she nodded her consent. Soft, torturous kisses began a slow trek from her knee up to her inner thigh, and Emma whimpered with impatience. She spread her legs wider as he got closer to where she ached, begging him to get there faster.

“Killian. Please,” she moaned when she felt him nuzzle the damp curls of her mound with his nose, teasing her with the hot breath of his exhale after he’d breathed in her scent.

“You smell absolutely decadent, love,” he purred in a low tone that set her blood on fire. “I’m not sure I can wait any longer to taste you.”

“Then don’t,” she pleaded. Emma cried out at the overwhelming relief she felt when his tongue finally traced the sensitive folds of her sex to the throbbing point of her need.

Her relief was short lived, though. Emma had always suspected that his tongue was capable of performing equally wicked deeds to the naughty innuendo that often rolled off of it. And holy hell was that assumption proved accurate with each flick, lick, and swipe it laved upon her most sensitive of places, keying her up to greater heights than she ever thought herself capable of reaching. She rocked her hips in rhythm with his ministrations and her already firm grasp at his hair tightened as she felt the beginning crest of her orgasm. The tug to his scalp caused Killian to hum appreciatively against her, the sensation propelled her over the edge with exquisite force. Her back arched off the floor and a series of mixed curses and praise echoed around them as Killian continued to carry her through her release, not letting up until he was sure her satisfaction was complete.

Emma might have left her body momentarily.

She couldn’t be sure, but one moment Killian had been kissing between her thighs, and the next he was kissing up her neck with a trail seared into her skin of where his lips had applied themselves along the length of her body, though she had no memory of him doing so.

_ Wow, _ she thought. And that was about all the thought her brain could muster in that moment.

Fortunately, Killian’s appeared to still be functioning on a cognitive level.

“I probably should have asked you this before things progressed this far, but,” he murmured softly into her ear, “you wouldn’t happen to have a condom somewhere on the premises, would you? I’m afraid I haven’t got one with me, and I wouldn’t presume to th-”

She silenced his words with a kiss and the taste of herself on his tongue sparked a fresh need between her thighs.

“I don’t have a need for one if you don’t,” she replied, looking him in the eye as he processed her words.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.”

Killian kissed her again and they worked in tandem to remove his sweatpants. Emma glanced down once he’d freed himself from their last barrier, and her brows rose in appreciation for that part of him she’d been eager to get a glimpse of since the moment they’d met. To say she was not disappointed would be an understatement.

Killian lined himself up at her entrance, and Emma held her breath in eager anticipation, exhaling a soft moan at the burn and stretch she felt as he slid into her.

“Bloody hell,” he breathed out, apparently having held his own breath. His head fell forward and he stilled, clearly trying to collect some measure of control over himself. “You feel incredible, love. So gloriously tight and wet.”

Hovering over her on braced forearms, Killian set a languid rhythm and they exchanged soft kisses while marveling at the other with tender gazes and words. The heat from both the fire and their building desire washed over them, and the flickering light from the hearth danced over their skin glistening with the sheen of their exertion.

Emma brought her legs up to wrap around his waist, urging him into a faster pace with the press of her heels against his ass. Her breath hitched when he shifted his hips causing him to hit her  _ there _ with each thrust. Tender words become erotic utterances of strangled moans and indecent filth whispered into her ear and against her neck, which only made her burn with an even greater need. Emma held on tighter to Killian, rocking her own hips into his, chasing the rush of sensation that was building at the base of her spine and tingled over every inch of her flesh.

“Close,” she panted, “so close. Oh, god, Killian. I’m… I’m.”

She was there.

Wave after wave crashed over her as she cried out his name again, and it wasn’t but a moment later that he followed her, stuttering out her name with groanings that held no other words as he spilled himself deep within her.

Utterly spent, Killian rolled off to her side and gathered her into his arms. They laid there listening to the soft crackle of the fire and each other’s slowing breaths, tracing patterns along one another’s skin as their hearts normalized in their rhythm.

“I have a confession to make,” Emma said softly.

“Most women do,” Killian teased as he placed a kiss against her temple. “What is it, love?”

Emma worried at her lip for a second before confessing, “I might have noticed that the storm had rolled in early and didn’t say anything with the hopes that you’d…”

“That I’d get stuck here with you,” Killian finished.

Emma couldn’t bring herself to look up at him, too concerned that he might be upset with her for not saying anything about the storm.

“I have a confession to make, too,” he said, and Emma’s head snapped up to meet his gaze when he added, “I might not have mentioned noticing the storm coming in early in the hopes that I’d get stuck here with you, as well.”

Emma mirrored his smile and declared, “Well, you’re good and stuck now.”

“Aye, love. And there’s nowhere and no one I’d rather be stuck with.”

When David radioed the next day with the news that it would definitely be another day before they could get the snow plowed, Emma told him not to rush. She and Killian were doing just fine being stuck with one another.


End file.
